"You needn't tell me how you felt, Pauline. I want to hear facts, not accounts of your feelings. You did wrong to put on your white dress, for it had already been fitted on by the dressmaker, and it was being carefully kept for Sunday wear. But proceed. After you lit the candle and drew down the blinds what happened?"
"A great puff of wind came in through the window, and it blew the blind against the candle, and the flame of the candle came towards me, and I had my hand up to arrange my hair. I was fastening it up with hairpins to make myself look quite grown-up."
"And the candle caught my sleeve and set it on fire."
Miss Tredgold now began to look so pale that Verena vaguely wondered if she were going to faint. The little culprit, however, stood bolt upright and gazed with defiant black eyes at her aunt.
"Yes," said Pauline, "I suffered awful pain, and the sleeve blazed up like anything; but I ran to the basin of water and put it out. I was afraid to tell you. I had to tell Renny that I had burnt my arm, but I didn't tell her how it happened, and I wouldn't allow her to breathe to you that I was in pain. That was the reason I could not wear my pretty blouse last night, and you were angry with me. I hope you won't be angry any more; but the sleeve of the dress is burnt badly. Perhaps you won't give me any birthday present because the sleeve of my new dress is so much injured."
"I will see about that. The thing is to cure your arm. The doctor must come immediately."
"You must see the doctor," said Miss Tredgold.
She went out of the room as she spoke. Pauline sank into a chair; Verena looked down at her.
"Have you told the truth?" asked Verena suddenly.
Pauline nodded with such a savage quickness that it made her sister positively certain that she had not heard the right story.
"I have sent for Dr. Moffat," she said. "I hope he will be here after dinner. My dear child, why didn't you tell me before?"
"Are you going to forgive me?" faltered Pauline. "I--I almost think I'd rather you didn't."
"You are a very queer child, and I may as well tell you frankly you are talking nonsense. You did wrong, of course, to put on the white dress; but I think, my dear, your sufferings have been your punishment. We will say no more now about the burnt sleeve. Fortunately I have plenty of the same muslin in the house, and the mischief can be quickly repaired. Now, dear, lie back in that chair. No; you are not to come in to dinner. It shall be sent to you here on a tray."